


Want

by Anonymous



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Cockblocking, Dubious consent not between OMC and Arthur, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jealous Dutch, Jealousy, M/M, Young Arthur Morgan, dutch being a major asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Arthur is tired of feeling alone.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80
Collections: Anonymous





	Want

He shouldn’t have followed them into town, he thinks as he sits alone at the bar. The invitation seemed to be more directed towards Hosea and John anyways, still he followed the three of them like a lost puppy to the saloon. 

Ever since they took the boy in, he had felt lonely. He had been scared the first few months, scared that they were planning on replacing him, sending him away as soon as John was able to use a gun. They had needed Arthur when he was younger because they looked less suspicious when traveling with a child. 

Now, when he was a man grown, it just made sense if they wanted to get rid of him. He had brought it up to Hosea once when drunk, and Hosea had just laughed at him, petted his hair and promised him that they always would want him around. 

It felt like a lie now, when he watched them sit at the table in the far end corner of the saloon, laughing with the working girl that had taken his seat when he had gotten up to order a new beer. 

He couldn’t really go back now to them. So now he sat, wallowing in his own self-pity at the bar, thinking about doing them all a favor and just get out of there. 

He really felt out of place everywhere he went nowadays, even more so in camp. Tried to do his chores quietly, tried to do jobs to regain some of Dutch’s and Hosea’s affections. But Hosea was busy, busy with Bessie and John, and Dutch with John too and the few times Dutch wanted to spend time with him then- 

Well, they weren’t pleasant, but he had grown used to his role in Dutch’s life, to the late visits in his tent when Dutch was almost too drunk to stand. 

Scared that they’d might kick him out if he tried to put an end to it, he had endured it as well as he could. It’s not like it happened often. In fact, if John had brought anything good along it was that Dutch visited him even less frequently than before. 

He had entertained the thought of leaving at times, to sneak away in the middle of the night. He’d rather leave than be left again. If they were planning on replacing him with John, at least he wanted to feel as if he made that choice for them.   
A cynical part of him thought that they might not even notice if he disappeared, they barely spoke to him these days, busy taking care of their new kid. 

They hadn’t noticed his absence now, after all. 

God, he really was childish, sitting there feeling sorry for himself. Ungrateful too for even thinking about ditching the ones that had done so much for him already. 

Still, it stings when he sees them have fun together without him, talk and joke with such ease they never seemed to do when he was around. 

“Can I have this seat?” a deep voice asks. Arthur looks up and is greeted by a tall, handsome man with a warm smile on his sun kissed face. His eyes are blue, vividly so. 

“Sure,” Arthur says, feels himself blush as the man sits down next to him without ever breaking eye contact. The man has a strong and angular jaw and beautiful wavy hair that reached to his shoulders. He has plump and pink lips, framed by a red moustache and a goatee. 

He blushes even more when the man smirks at him as if he caught him staring, and quickly looks down. 

_Shit_ , he thought he gotten over those thoughts. 

“You new in town, mister?” the man asks, to which Arthur only nods. “What business do you have here?” 

He speaks in weird dialect, one that Arthur don’t recognize. “Traveling,” Arthur mumbles. “With my family.” 

“Going where?” 

A talkative feller, Arthur notes. “We just travel.” 

“Just travel,” the man muses. “Karl,” he calls out to the bartender. “A drink here for me and my traveler friend, Mr.?” 

“Morgan,” Arthur says. “Arthur Morgan.” 

“Arthur Morgan,” the man repeats, he says in a way that gives him chills, says it like a prayer. When the man leans in, he feels his skin crackling just like it did when lightening was about to strike. “Why are you here today, Arthur?” 

He can’t respond, his throat has dried up. He hears someone clear their throat, the bartender. “Your drinks, sirs,” he says stiffly. 

Arthur grabs the bottle closest to him, just a regular beer, and sees the way the man follows his movements with his eyes, sees _desire_ in them. 

He likes it, feeling wanted. Hasn’t felt like that in a long time. 

With a sudden burst of confidence, he looks the man in the eyes as he slowly licks away a drop of beer that had escaped from the tip of the bottle before wrapping his lips around it, taking a large sip. 

“Why are you here?” the man repeats. 

Arthur shrugs. “No idea. Whatever you’re up for, I guess.” 

He feels a warm hand on his knee, a thumb pressing into his thigh. The man has gotten even closer now, and he’s suddenly aware of where they are, how it would look like to the patrons at the bar. “We ain’t private enough for that,” Arthur says slowly. 

“Well then,” the man says with a smile. “Let’s go somewhere _private_ then.” 

He thinks about for a second, almost declines, but he hears the laughter from the table in the corner of the bar, the booming laughter from Dutch and the shrill ones from the working girl sitting in his spot. 

He hadn’t felt seen in a long while, and no one had ever looked at him like this before.   
Not even Dutch, Dutch who only came to him when they both were drunk. Dutch, who looked at him with desire, sure, but not like this cocky stranger, large and self-confident but who still seemed to radiate softness. 

This stranger, who looked at him with both excitement and nervousness. It would be easy, saying no to him. He would take a no, and that realization is what seals the deal for him. 

“Yeah,” Arthur finally responds, drinks down the last of his beer in the matter of seconds. “Let’s.” 

His heart beats rapidly as he exits the saloon with the man, unaware of the eyes burning into his neck from the other side of the room. 

\-- 

Private, it seems, is in the alley next to the bar just behind a shed. As soon as they are out of view, the man is upon him, kisses him passionately as he presses him against the shed. “This okay?” he asks between the kisses.   
“Yes,” Arthur breathes, feeling himself growing hard from the way the man touches him, from feeling the warm body pressed against his. The other man’s scent was intoxicating, he smelled of tobacco, of musk, campfire and- 

“Lavender?” Arthur asks. 

“Lavender oil,” the man’s voice is husky, “for my beard and- ah - hair.” 

Arthur laughs, trails wet kisses along the man’s jaw. “Pretty vain,” he moans into the other man’s ear when he feels a knee brushing against his cock, now straining against his pants. “You some kind of city slicker?”   
  
“Farmer,” the man responds as he begins to work on the buttons of Arthur’s vest, one hand moves to underneath his shirt, and Arthur loves the feeling of the man’s calloused hands against his naked skin. “ _Jisses,_ you’re gorgeous.” 

Arthur hisses in pain when the man’s hands brush against his bruised rib, and suddenly the warm body that was pressed up against him is gone. 

“ _Fan_ ,” the man says, it sounds like a curse. “ _Gjorde_ \- Did I hurt you?” he’s now a step back with concern on his face, shame too. 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur says and pulls him close again. “I ain’t fragile.” 

“Still don’t wanna hurt you,” the man says, but he seems to be in the mood again, pressing kisses against Arthur’s neck and his hands once again back under his shirt, stroking the naked skin underneath, although this time with a gentleness that felt unfamiliar to him. Hell, the whole experience did. Dutch liked it rough, Dutch didn’t ask. 

He doesn’t want to think of Dutch now, though. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“I’ve broken necks of men bigger than you, mister,” Arthur says with a gasp as the man pinches his nipples, “Bashed the teeth in off more fellas than I can count, you think you can hurt me, farm-boy?” 

The man just laughs. “Oh, you’re a wild one, aren’t ya, Arthur?” 

Arthur grabs him by the shirt, heaves him around and pushes him up against the shed.   
“You have no idea, friend,” he says and drops to his knees, his heart beats fast in his chest, it feels like a drum, blood rushing through him fast as if in a gun fight. The man moans above him when Arthur rubs the tent in his pants, and slowly begins to work on the buttons of the dark corduroy pants. 

_“Arthur!”_ a familiar voice shouts, and he jumps back immediately, almost falls flat on his back from the surprise, the other man seemed to be surprised as well, he flinches so hard that he smacks his head against the shed. 

Dutch stands in the alley, looking ready to kill. “Get the hell out of here,” he hisses, pointing a gun towards the man. He doesn’t need to be told twice, he looks regretfully back at Arthur before quickly walking away from the scene, leaving Arthur in the dirt. 

He slowly gets back up to his feet, trying to button up his vest in the process, scared to meet Dutch’s glare and feels fucking mortified over being caught like this, on his knees in front of a stranger. 

“Care to explain yourself?” Dutch, his voice cold like ice. 

“It ain’t none of your business, Dutch.” Arthur bites back. 

“No, I think it is.” 

Dutch has no right to sound so furious, so disgusted. Like he himself hadn’t liked Arthur on his knees before, and like he didn’t like sleeping around like there was no tomorrow, finding a new woman in every town they went to. It’s not like they were exclusive. Hell, Dutch had barely looked at him in weeks, what right did he have to be mad now? 

"I'm a grown man, Dutch," he spits. "I can sleep with whoever I want."

“I thought we raised you better than this,” Dutch says, the man truly was in a bad mood now. “Better than to go down on the first stranger you meet at a bar, did you even get his name?” 

Arthur stays silent, and that’s all the confirmation Dutch needs. “Thought so,” he says and Arthur can hear the sneer in his voice. 

“Does it matter?” Arthur asks, clenches his jaw, tries to keep his voice from cracking. 

“Not at all, son,” Dutch says. “But if you are gonna whore around, at least get some money out it instead of offering yourself freely to any man that calls you pretty.” 

Jesus fucking Christ, what a goddamn bastard. 

“You callin’ me a whore?” Arthur hisses. 

“Don’t twist my words, son.” 

Goddamn, Dutch always seemed to be good at making him feel like an idiot, feel like he was misunderstanding things. He loved Dutch, he truly did, the man had been so kind to him at times, but right now he just felt downright mean. 

“The hell is the matter with you?” and _fuck_ , his voice almost breaks. _“_ You jealous or somethin’?” 

This seems to actually surprise Dutch, he stiffens, and when he sees how the man’s hand twitches, he wonders if that hit the mark. But then Dutch scoffs. “Jealous? What would I be jealous of?” 

“You angry about that man wanting me? That’s what this is about?” 

“I didn’t raise you to be naive, Arthur,” Dutch laughs, a cruel, mocking laugh that chips away on his already low self-esteem. “That man didn’t want you, no doubt he would have turned you over to the nearest sheriff.” 

It wasn't true. The man had been _kind_ , had been excited and trailed kisses along his neck. Hell, he was the one that propositioned Arthur. Wouldn’t he be jailed as an invert too if he ratted him out?   
Then again, he wasn’t smart like Dutch and Hosea. Dutch always seemed to see the things that Arthur himself didn’t. 

Suddenly, the months of loneliness, of feeling left out catches up to him and he finds himself latching onto Dutch’s words. The thrill from earlier had disappeared entirely, and all that he’s left with is the feeling of disgust when he feels the saliva drying against his skin, smells the lavender that lingers around his mouth. He feels dirty. 

Dutch was right, he was naïve to think that anyone other than Dutch ever want him in that way. Mary certainly hadn’t. 

And hell, just thinking about Mary opens up the wound in his heart. One year had gone since he last saw her and he still couldn’t think about her without feeling like he was about to die. 

“I’m sorry, Dutch,” Arthur says in a thick voice and he could feel his throat beginning to close up and a familiar burning between his eyes. He couldn’t cry in front of Dutch, he didn’t want to be laughed at. “I- I am,” it’s getting harder to speak, he swallows the sob that threatens to come out and unravel him, once he started crying, he never seemed to be able to stop. “I’m gonna go back to camp.” 

He turns to leave but Dutch grabs his arm, forces him to turn around again, pulls him close so that he feels crowded. 

“Look at me, son,” he demands, and when Arthur refuses to meet his eyes, Dutch grabs his chin and pushes his head upwards. “Oh, son, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” Dutch says. Arthur thinks he’s meant to sound sad, but the cynical part of him thinks he can hear amusement in Dutch’s voice. 

Arthur blinks away the tears that had started to collect in the corner of his eyes. “It’s fine,” he mutters. “ _I’m_ fine.” 

Dutch is still holding his face, there is something about his eyes that send shivers down his spine.   
“I am sorry, son,” Dutch sighs, stroking his cheek, “I am just trying to look out for you, you know that.”   
  
“Yeah,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “Yeah, I know that.” 

Dutch is only an inch or so taller, still it feels like he towers over him as he leans forward and presses his lips against his. He doesn’t want this, not with Dutch, the man who had raised him. Never had, it had always felt wrong the few times Dutch touched him. 

He wants what John has, pats on his shoulder and encouraging words, like the ones Hosea and Dutch used to pour over him when they first took him in. 

But if this is the only way Dutch wanted him now, well then he decides to play his part and kiss back just like all the times before. 

**Author's Note:**

> slowly putting arthur through all of my bad memories  
> find my other fics here  
> https://afinenightofdebauchery.tumblr.com/
> 
> not beta read 
> 
> some translations of the words the stranger used  
> fan - fuck/shit  
> jisses - jeez/gosh  
> gjorde - did 
> 
> hope you liked it! please let me know if there are any errors or weird stuff


End file.
